


Seasons Bleedings

by Raisans_Grapeon



Series: Letters Left on your Desk [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, Blood and Gore, Christmas, Holidays, Letters, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers, aaaaaaaa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17162009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon
Summary: C.C. Tinsley has been working tirelessly at “The Golden Killer” case for two months now, and it has been a trainwreck of monstrous proportions. Now the very killer himself has told him that there will be a spinoff series of his killings leading up to Christmas, and “a finale you won’t want to miss.” Gold’s words, not his.





	Seasons Bleedings

Detective C.C. Tinsley balled up a piece of lined paper in a fit of frustration. His brows were tightly knit together, but sweat started to form. On his desk was the envelope where the paper came from, with Tinman written in stunning and expertly executed calligraphy. The ink used was a glittery gold, a common theme that the sender had.

“God fucking…” Tinsley muttered to himself as he threw the balled up paper across his messy room, the wad hitting the new cork board that had started to accumulate newspaper clippings, red string tying leads together. File cabinets had shifted out of place, and their drawers were almost yanked off their tracks in various instances when the detective would get frustrated at his shortcomings. The floor was relatively clean of papers, but the walls had taken to be the site of dozens of stickies and random pieces of loose leaf paper taped up. One side was dedicated to the lined papers that Tinsley had started receiving a week after he took up the case, which was two months ago. The newest one did not hold good news for the detective. He sighed deeply, running his hands over his scraggly and unshaven cheeks. “What the hell am I supposed to do?,” he asked no one in particular.

The man stood from his desk, pushing the swivel chair out as he rounded the corner and picked up the newest note gingerly. The anger had died quickly, and he figured he should better analyze the note for clues.

_My dearest, Tinman,_

_I am quite eager to inform you of my newest plan that I am afraid my handwriting might not look it’s best._

_Normally, I would not give you any hints to my next crime, as you well know, but tis the season of giving! So I shall give this to you, my season’s bleedings!_

_I plan on doing a line of murders leading up to Christmas day. 12 days, 12 people. Simple enough, right? Simple enough for you, I feel. On Christmas day, I have a finale that you won't want to miss! And you can't miss it, trust me. I do invite you to try to stop this, but that would be virtually impossible, as you have never stopped me before, so why should now be any different?_

_Not much else will change in the crime layout. I’ll have a bit more of a festive flare to add, but your usual clue will be there._

_I look forward to hearing your thoughts._

_Yours truly,_

_Gold_

The thought still sent chills down Tinsley’s spine. He felt the beads of sweat fall down the side of his face as the pressure came on. He had a clue, a chance to save lives and catch the killer. C.C. swallowed thickly, rereading the note frantically, smoothing out the crinkles. Minutes passed and Tinsley sighed in defeat. He couldn’t pull anything else out of the letter other than 12 holiday themed killings were going to happen all the way up to Christmas. Sluggishly, he shuffled to his large, and only window that sat at the back of the office, right behind his desk. Flurries drifted lazily down from the grey clouds above, alighting on an already one inch thick coating of snow. The roads were paved, but slush still gathered, many cars driving by, not caring or noticing. People walked down shoveled sidewalks , shoe prints marking the paths of many, while being constantly covered up by the descending snowflakes. Everyone had thick wool overcoats on, while the occasional homeless person staggered about in layers of rags. Tinsley watched over the masses from his third story room, gaze full of worry. Any one of those people could be a target for the next attack. If only they all knew what he knew. They’d all be hunkered in their apartments to wait the storm out. The only people who should’ve been out on the streets were the police. But then, would that just lead Gold to target an officer of the law? Tinsley had no doubt in his mind that the killer had the capability to take down any law enforcement officer silently. Even after two months of killing, he had an impressive record. Eight killed, with no survivors. Many witnesses or people who had last seen the victims had claimed that one moment they were there, and by the time they blinked, they had disappeared. Gold was slick, clean, and intelligent. Tinsley definitively decided that yes, The Golden Killer could and will kill anyone he could, so hiding civilians inside would do nothing. There would always be prey for Gold to hunt.

Tinsley sighed turning around to his desk, and picked up the receiver on his phone and dialed the police department to inform them of the note.

-

12 days till Christmas and the first victim was found when Tinsley got a letter from Gold in the morning that gave him the location of the first body. The sight was grisley. A metal hook had been mounted to the wall of a bakery, where the naked body of 14 year old Peter Parklin was hung up, the hook piercing the underside of the boy’s lower jaw, and the end could be seen coming out of the floor of his mouth. That, however, was not the cause of death. There were 12 stab wounds in the youth’s stomach, and he was presumably dead before he was hung up, since the wound in the mouth wasn’t irritated in any way. There was a stain of blood on the concrete further down in the alleyway, where police think Peter was initially killed. The body had ornaments all over it, the smaller hooks jabbed in all around the body. On the arms, legs, torso. Gold wasn’t joking when he said it would be festive. To mark it as one of Gold’s killings, there was a gold painted leaf planted on top of the deathly pale body’s raven black hair.

Peter’s clothes couldn’t be found anywhere, assumed to be taken by Gold, and as usual, the murder weapon couldn’t be found either. The alleyway had been swept clean of snow at some point, since the dusting from last night was even, and showed no signs of disturbance or footprints. Tinsley stepped carefully around the scene eyes scrutinizing every detail of the crime, hoping to pick up anything else about the case. There was nothing on the surface, but Tinsley had learned to look deeper. With gloved hands, the detective twirled the ornaments on the body around, till he caught writing on one of them.

“One. Too late for coffee.”

Tinsley’s eyes squinted, rereading the sentence. It didn’t quite line up in his brain at the time. They were at a bakery, so the line wasn’t referring to where the first body was, or why Gold had picked this one off the streets.

“You see something, Tinsley?,” Officer Bean called out, walking up the detective and resting her hand on his tan trench coat.

Tinsley merely nodded. “Yeah, but I need some time to make heads or tails of it.” His voice was hushed, like some interloper was listening in. The detective looked around once more, and then looked back up to the sky. The clouds were starting to recede, and blue could be seen again.

“Well,” Bean hummed, peering over at the writing on the ornament. “Whatever you need from the pd, we’ll have your back. You’re usually right when it comes to this.”

Tinsley nodded, backing away from the body to get one last good look at it. “Thanks, Bean. I’ll call you the moment I think of something.” He never looked at the officer as he turned away.

Officer Bean watched as C.C. Tinsley ducked under the police tape, hollering back that he expected copies of everything as usual before slipping into the crowd. His black fedora visibly bobbed down the sea of bodies.

-

11 days till Christmas, and Tinsley was observing another body that was behind a local coffee shop. A woman named Bethany Stokes, who was 20. Cause of death was the 11 stab wounds inflicted on Bethany’s stomach, just like Peter’s; however, this time, the body way laying on the ground instead of suspended. For Gold’s festive flair, the woman’s arms, legs, and head were cut off, and pulled only a foot away from their stubs. Her blood was used to connect everything together to form a star. On the woman’s forehead had a small golden leaf. Tinsley had to take moments to look away from the crime. He muttered, “Jesus, Gold. I know you’re insane, but this is just sick.”

The detective looked back over to the body, stepping over the bloody lines and limbs to look around at the scene. He couldn’t catch any clue off hand. No prints so far, no weapon, no footprints, all swept away. He never seemed to catch a break from Gold. Pacing about, C.C Tinsley walked further into the city alley, eyeing the walls and floors for his clue that the killer always left for him. The further down, the darker it became. The clouds overhead hid the sun, and the shadows from the coffee shop building added another layer of darkness. The detective squinted in the lowlight, grumbling to himself. He pushed his hand into one of his trench coat pockets and pulled out a small flashlight, and clicked it on. The white light bounced off of the cold grey walls that lined the alley that were covered in graffiti. Tinsley aimed the light at the ground and saw an envelope, perched up on a small brick. The sight made Tinsley grimace, as he knew exactly what the envelope was. Still, a clue was a clue, and he picked it up with his free, gloved hand.

“You find something back there!?” Bean’s voice bounced off the walls as she followed the light.

Tinsley’s head snapped over to look at Bean, eyes wider than before. He looked down at the note, and flipped it over.

“I know you showed someone last time.”

The sentence made the detective grit his teeth. At the beginning of their correspondence, Gold had expressed that he would prefer if their “game” would be between just the two of them. Every murder, Tinsley hadn’t shown anyone the hidden clues, but he never thought that Gold was watching. This was proof enough that he was. With a deep breath, Tinsley looked back over to Bean. “No. Nothing this time.” The officer huffed in disappointment, and turned around. Tinsley watched her go with weary eyes till she disappeared around the corner.

In a split second, the letter was torn open, and note pulled out. The fancy writing was on the usual lined paper.

Dear Tinman,

I’m very disappointed in you. You promised that these clues would not be found by the police. You have been so good about it, so why have you betrayed my trust like this. I almost didn’t leave you a clue this time! You are lucky that I am so forgiving.

Though, I am quite surprised that you let that past one pass you by! Not as smart as advertised, hmm? Well, I shall not fret about it. I have the utmost trust in your abilities. Just don’t prove me wrong.

As for your clue, how’s this for size:

No holiday is complete without a feast.

Yours forever,

Gold.

Tinsley sighed, leaning against a wall and reread the clue. From last time, it was obvious he was talking about the next crime scene. Right now, he think of a dozen markets where Gold could strike next, and he wasn’t too keen on asking the entirety of the pd to scout every market in the city. “Fuck you.” He spoke just loud enough so that any prying ear could hear.

-

It was now 5 days till Christmas, and Tinsley had been up all night. The sun rose over the city line, everything covered in a new, thick layer of snow. The white reflected beautifully, but Tinsley didn’t care for it one bit. His head was in his hands as his mind lay unused. He just waited for a letter to come floating into his office. All night, he spent trying to pinpoint exactly where the next crime would be, but every suspected area didn’t have a whiff of something funny going on. By midnight, Tinsley knew the crime had most likely happened already, so he waited for the placement from the one person who knew where it was.

In, from the open window behind the detective, a paper airplane drifted in, made of lined paper. Tinsley didn’t flinch as the plane alighted on his desk, begging to be opened, which he did with much hesitance.

Five minutes later, Tinsley was on the scene. One minute later he found the clue. Another day wasted at his desk. Another night spent at various locations. Bean had started to voice her concerns, as did many of the other detectives on the scene. Tinsley no longer wore emotion as each graphic murder etched itself into his mind. Still, he hunted with almost reckless abandon.

4 days, 3 days, 2 days, it was all the same. Wait, arrive, find, study, scout, repeat.

Even till the end of Christmas Eve, nothing had changed. The clue was just as vague, and just as annoying.

“What a time for Holiday Cheer.”

Tinsley growled, and tore the tiny piece of paper that held the clue on it, and bellowing to no one. “What’s the point!? I can’t even congleen a solid lead out of this one!” He leaned back, staring at the ceiling through dreary eyes. “It’s not like I’ve been able to reach any of the others, why would this one be any different.” C.C. let his eyes slip close as he tried to breathe to relieve the tension in his chest. He didn’t have a good feeling about Christmas day. It was sure to be the worst of the worst. There wasn’t a doubt in Tinsley’s mind. Still, he slept, so he might be awake for the newest problem tomorrow.

-

Morning broke once again on Christmas day, but Tinsley didn’t wake up. He still snored, body leaning back into his chair as the sun creeped higher in the sky. The office was cleaned up by the other man who now stood in the middle of the room. He was of average height, dressed in a freshly cleaned black suit, with black gloves. His hair was styled back, and his shoes were recently shined. The man admired his work before looking back at the detective that slept through his entire clean up. The man couldn’t deny that it was a comforting sight, seeing Tinsley actually resting, though the man wished the detective would’ve gotten it on a couch at the very least. But that was neither here nor there. The well dressed man walked around the desk, an envelope in between his fingers. A small smile graced his toned skin as he set the note down on the desk. “Merry Christmas, Tinman.”

When Tinsley woke, the man was gone, and the note didn’t have one word in it about a murder, nor had any one called him in on a Golden Killer case.


End file.
